Phantom of London
by The Lonely Padawan
Summary: Five years after the Chandelier Crash. Erik flees to London to escape the police, then saves the life of a Civil War refugee. Rated T for now, may go up for violence. E/OC, not related to "The Twin Brother I Never Had" or "Not Again" in any way.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, I know my last two Phanphics have been E/C, but this one is totally different and has nothing to do with them. So, with that out of the way, please enjoy!**

**Note: I own nothing but my OC. If I owned Erik, I would be a very happy camper.**

**Warning: Violence and murder in this chapter. A horrible way to begin a story, I know, but still.**

Chapter One:

Five years.

Five years after the Opera Populaire had gone out of business because of the chandelier crash.

Because of me.

_No,_ a voice in the back of my head said. A dark voice, one I didn't like at all. It was the years of insanity speaking, of lonliness, of . . .

_It was Christine's fault. _That voice again.

. . . Christine.

"Christine." My voice, once so strong, broke in a thousand shards and crashed to the ground in despair.

I hid my face from the upcoming passerby. I would need a new mask.

"Tuppence?" a beggar woman called. "Tuppence for a poor, miserable beggar woman?"

I dropped a British coin into her hand, whilst covering my face with my cloak.

The London night was foggy, dreary, and cold, nothing at all like Paris.

It was the perfect place to hide.

Dark and damp were what I had been used to since my childhood. Before even my move to the Opera Populaire, I was regarded with cruelty and abuse. Before even my brief stay with the Roma that ended in the murder of my keeper. By my hands, of course.

When I glanced up, I caught sight of something that made my blood run cold.

A newspaper with a drawing on the front, a drawing of a man with a mask. To be precise, a man with a mask covering half his face. The headline read: Phantom of the Opera Populaire. I picked up the paper, skimming through the article. They had spoken with Raoul de Chagny, the bastard, and he had told them everything about me. Apparently, I had been expected to leave France completely. For once, the excpectations were right.

I scowled, ripping the paper in half, tossed it to the street, then continued on my way to find lodgings for the night.

Agonized screaming startled me, then drew me to a dark alley.

"No! Please!" the voice of a woman shouted.

"C'mere!"

I dashed to the scene, taking out my beloved lasso.

The man brandished a knife, kneeling next to the naked form of a young woman with short, matted black hair. She seemed only half-conscious as I tossed the lasso around the man's neck, dragging him to my side. He had hardly the time to cry out before I had strangled him. I left the lasso around his neck and turned my attention to the girl..

She looked at me with tears in her dark blue eyes, and I took off my cloak to cover her, then picked her up. She was even lighter than her slim, wispy figure suggested.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper before falling unconscious.

I carried her out of the alley in the shadows, straight to an inn. The inkeeper and his wife raised their eyebrows in shock at my face and the girl in my arms, but gave me a room to sleep in and her medical attention. They used old folk remedies and prayer, but eventually, it did the job. She slept soundly on the bed while I brought a chair to her side, to watch and call out if she developed a fever.

I had just begun to doze off when she groaned, startling me.

"Wh . . . where am I?" she asked, her groggy blue eyes scanning the room, then landing on . . . me. The right side of my face seemed a point of fascination to her, then she stared into my own eyes. "You saved my life," she whispered, sitting up, drawing the sheets around her. She startled me even further when she wrapped her arms around my neck in an embrace. "Thank you, kind sir, thank you so much!"

When she pulled away and kissed my deformed cheek, I wrinkled my eyebrows in confusion. "You're . . . not afraid of me?" I said, unsure whether I was losing it or not.

She shook her head, smiling a bit. "No, of course not," she said. "I've seen worse. My father is—was—a battlefield doctor and sometimes had to tend to burned and injured men in the house when I was a child in Boston. Sometimes, men came in with missing limbs." She held out her hand. "I'm Chelsea Ivy."

"Erik." I took her hand and kissed it.

"Just Erik?" she asked, a wry smile on her face.

I managed to return her smile. Something about this American girl was infectious. "Just Erik. No last name that I can remember."

"Then make one up," she suggested.

What a strange girl with strange ideas.

Chelsea tilted her head with curiosity. "I know this is ruse to ask, but what happened to you . . .?" She gently touched the right side of my face in a tender gesture I had never known. The warmth of her hand startled me, and I flinched. Her eyes widened in alarm. "I'm sorry!" she blurted. "Did . . . does it hurt to touch it?"

I shook my head. "No," I said. "I'm just not used to someone . . ." I sighed, not finishing that sentence. "I was born this way."

She nodded, not with agreement, but with realization. "I'm sorry if I offended you." I raised my eyebrows as her mouth widened in the biggest yawn I had ever seen.

"Sleep," I ordered, putting a hand on her shoulder and forcing her to lie down. "You're tired."

"No, I'm not," she protested, even after closing her eyes and curling into a ball. I soon found myself smiling tenderly at her sleeping form, then closed my own eyes, leaning my head back against the chair.

For the first time in years, I fell into a deep, restful sleep, without dreams of Gypsies or, worse, Christine.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't know if I'll put any adult content in this because people can be immature, but there will be violence. Lots and lots of violence. So, if you think I should raise the rating, review and let me know.**

**With that out of the way, Chapter Two.**

Chapter Two:

When I woke to dim light streaming through the window, Chelsea was still asleep. I walked out silently, taking my cloak, and paid the inkeeper for the night.

At first, I had no intention of returning. The odds of them getting the paper and seeing my picture were against me. But I couldn't leave Chelsea alone.

Or was it that Chelsea wouldn't leave me alone?

Regardless, I went straight to a dress shop first thing and bought the only thing they had that was actually small enough to fit her dainty form. Long and made for a thin woman, the only dress was black with lace trim and satin on the bodice, fit for a funeral.

I bought it anyway, unsure whether she would like it or not. Not that I cared.

Did I?

I shook my head and walked back to the inn with the funeral dress.

Was I shocked to find a newpaper with me on the cover waiting on the table? Not really. I grabbed it, hiding it in the folds of the dress, and walked up the stairs to the room nonchalantly, trying not to laugh when I heard the inkeeper shout, "Where did my newspaper go?"

I walked in the room, startled to find Chelsea up and about, wearing my cloak.

She raised her eyebrows as I walked in, and I turned around abruptly to protect her modesty.

"I, er, bought you a dress," I said, holding it out behind me. "It was the only one I could find that seemed small enough to fit you. I apologize if it doesn't suit your tastes."

She gasped. "I love it!"

I felt the soft fabric being tugged from my hands, and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't turn around, okay?" she said.

I chuckled, but stayed still. As if I would do that. I am a man of honor.

I think.

For a long time, I only heard the sound of rustling fabric, but when the sound of paper fluttering to the ground reached my ear, my heart skipped a beat.

Before she could see it, I reached to the ground, picked it up, and tossed it in the fireplace.

Chelsea cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "What was that?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

"Nothing," I blurted. "Nothing at all."

She nodded as if she didn't believe me but wasn't going to press the matter, then cleared her throat. "Thank you again for saving my life," she began, her hands behind her back. "And for the dress. And I would like to invite you to dinner at my parents' house, if you think you could come tonight." She blushed, smiling meekly at me.

She must have seen my startled expression, because she turned away. "I'm sorry, of course I'd understand if you're too busy to come to dinner."

"No, I mean . . ." I walked over to her, placed a hand on her shoulder, and turned her to face me. "I would be honored to come to dinner and meet your family."

Chelsea's face brightened, and I wondered to myself what in the world had I just done. Dinner, for God's sake, with her _parents,_ who more than likely read the paper!

I could only hope they either don't recognize me without the mask, or they're so grateful I saved their daughter from would-be rape and/or murder that they don't alert the authorities.

But does one ever dare to hope for two such impossible things?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Between my grandmother having me read _Inkheart_ aloud to her (mainly because I'm hoping Dustfinger will pop out) and my sister whining about "When is my turn on the laptop?", it's hard to update as fast as I used to. So thank you for your patience and please don't hate me.**

Chapter Three:

I knocked on the door of the Ivy Manor, loosening the collar of my blouse. I had bought a new mask, black, and only hoped they didn't recognize me from the paper.

The maid opened the door and led me to the dining room, where the Ivys sat waiting for me.

Chelsea jumped up and ran over to hug me. When her father cleared his throat warningly, one eyebrow raised, she sat back down and invited me to sit across from her.

"Mr. Devereaux," Mr. Ivy began. It took me a moment before I realized it was me he was addressing.

Chelsea winked at me, and I smiled at her before directing my attention to her father.

"I'm aware you saved my daughter's life last night." He cleared his throat again and pulled out a wad of British money. "I'm willing to pay you for it."

I shook my head, raising my hands. "No, monseiur, I will not allow you to pay me. I was only doing what was right."

"Nonsense!" He added more money to the already large pile on the table. "I can add more if you like."

"Monseiur, I do not want your money." I pushed it back toward him, shaking my head. "My only wish is that you keep her close under your watch and do not let any harm come to her."

Chelsea tugged on her father's sleeve and motioned for him to lean closer so she could whisper in his ear. His eyebrows raised and he looked back at me. My face flushed as I wondered what she told him.

"Chelsea tells me you took her to an inn room last night," he said, clearing his throat again. "Do you not have anywhere else to stay?"

My jaw dropped. "Erm, I just recently came to England."

"From France." Chelsea's eyes gleamed.

"You're free to stay here, Mr. Devereaux," Mr. Ivy insisted. "At least until you can find a place of your own. Please, it's the least we can do for you. You saved my little girl's life." His eyes filled with tears as he gripped her hand on the table.

His face softened me, and I sighed, relenting. "I do not wish to trouble you, but if you insist . . ."

"We do," Mrs. Ivy interrupted.

I smiled softly and sighed again. "I do not have many belongings. In fact, what I own I carry with me." I had begun to add another sentence, but the front door banged open.

The maid was pushed to the side abruptly as the police stormed in, brandishing weapons.

"He's the Phantom of the Opera!" the maid shouted, pointing at me.

My heart stopped cold as I ducked under the table after a bulled whizzed past my ear.

Cursing softly to myself, I wondered how they had found me. Someone had probably seen me wearing the mask and contacted them.

Mr. Ivy grabbed my arm, pulling me into a secret room in the wall. He handed me the money that had still been on the table, his eyes gleaming determinedly.

"Go, Phantom," he said softly, pressing the money into my hand. "Go. That should be more than enough to get you into America and settled comfortably."

"Why are you doing this for me?" I asked, confused.

"You saved her life, Erik Devereaux," he said, tears spilling from his eyes. "Do you know what I'd do if I lost her? If protecting a murderer is a sufficient way to thank you for saving the life of Chelsea, then I'm happy to commit a crime for your sake."

Grasping my hand one last time, he pushed me toward another secret door. "Now get out of here. And don't look back. Take my horse if you have to."

He led me to the stable and gave me a fine black horse.

"Take good care of Poseidon," Mr. Ivy said, looking into my eyes one last time.

I nodded and mounted the steed, riding off into the foggy night of London.

Little did I know, I was being followed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Onyxx: Thank you for your kind words, Iamthephantomoftheopera and Easely Girl. For being my first two reviewers, you two get a shoutout from—**

**Erik: MEEEE! :3 By the way, this isn't the Erik from the current story. This is "The Twin Brother I Never Had" and "Not Again" Erik. So I'm much more fun to be around. X3**

**Onyxx: … Yes. Well. The Erik from my current story says "Hi" too.**

**Other Erik: Am I not 'fun' to be around?**

**Onyxx: … Depends on how you look at 'fun'...**

**Erik: She said it, dude, not me.**

**Other Erik: (brandishes lasso)**

**Onyxx: Oh, SHIT.**

Chapter Four:

I made a left turn, glancing around to see if the rider behind me was still following me. Was I shocked to see that they were? Not really. I slowed Poseidon down and climbed off him, drawing my noose.

The other rider leapt off their horse as well and, as I tossed the lasso around their neck, raised a fist to the level of their eyes. Cursing, I caught a glimpse of my pursuer's face.

Chelsea grinned at me. "What, did you think I was a policeman?" she asked, pulling the rope from around her neck.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I growled, taking her by the shoulders. "You are supposed to be with your parents, not stalking me!"

"My father told me that you had made him promise to keep me safe," she began, smoothing out the dress I had bought for her. "He told me I was safest with you."

I sighed. I had made him promise that. And it was true, I could probably fend away most would-be murderers and rapists.

Chelsea stroked Poseidon's mane. "What do you say, Erik?" she said, looking back at me. "Can I come with you?" Her eyes were pleading with me, and how was I to say no?

I sighed, relenting. "Fine. But don't annoy me, or you will face severe consequences." I mounted Poseidon again and pulled her up by the arm. "But the other horse goes free." .

"All right." Chelsea situated herself comfortably on Poseidon, not bothering to sit side-saddle.

_Anywhere you go, let me go too . . ._ The song ran through my head as the horse's hooves pounded against the cobblestone streets, heading in the direction of the docks.

I knew I was going to regret this. Bringing Chelsea would only make things difficult.

But what choice did I have? Let her tag along and protect her, or leave her brokenhearted? I knew the feeling, and it wasn't something I wished upon another soul.

Sighing as we reached the ship that would take us to America, I bought tickets for first class, being sure to wear my cloak over my face. I wasn't taking any chances after earlier tonight.

Our cabin was large and luxurious, and from Chelsea's expression, she had never seen anything quite so splendid. My eyes were dulled to the cabin's beauty; I had built things that dwarfed the cabin in comparison. Besides, it was too bright.

I sat on my bed and pulled my bag out of the folds of my cloak. It held all my sheet music, the only thing that really mattered to me anymore. I looked at the pages of a copy of my last masterpiece, _Don Juan Triumphant_, which had ended in disaster. I stroked the first page with one finger, tracing the writing that had taken me months to prepare.

"What's that?" Chelsea asked, looking over my shoulder.

"An opera," I answered, not looking at her.

"You wrote it?" She sat next to me.

"Yes." I wiped away the tears and tried to swallow the lump in my throat. And then, suddenly, my entire life was poured out to her. The Gypsies, Giry's rescuing me, the opera house, Christine . . .

She accepted it all, listened to my story, held me as I wept . . . No one had ever held me before. Not even my own mother. It felt strange, yet comforting at the same time.

I tentatively wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer, hesitant in case she pulled away. She didn't. Chelsea simply rested her cheek on top of my head and hugged me.

Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep in her arms.

**Onyxx: GAAAH!**

**Erik: No, Other Erik, stop!**

**Other Erik: Give me a reason!**

**Erik: Because killing is BAD!**

**Other Erik: … And...?**

**Erik: Because if you kill her, the story will not continue and the people that wanna read it will hunt you down and not rest until they have gutted you.**

**Other Erik: (removes lasso from author's neck) Okay, fine. I'll kill her AFTER the story is over.**

**Onyxx: That can't happen.**

**Other Erik: WHY THE HELL NOT?**

**Onyxx: Because Iamthephantomoftheopera is expecting a sequel to "Not Again."**

**Other Erik: Can I kill you after that?**

**Onyxx: No.**

**Other Erik: WHY THE HELL NOT?**

**Onyxx: Because … JOO LOVE ME!**

**Other Erik: … What?**

**Onyxx: (runs away) HAHA! You can never kill me now!**

**Other Erik: No, but I can take your laptop.**

**Onyxx: NOES! NOT MY BABY!**

**Other Erik: Heh. Come get it.**

**Erik: Sorry, when she said "Lots of violence," she didn't exactly mean in the story. She meant that she and Other Erik are gonna fight a lot.**

**Onyxx: RAWR! (takes lasso)**

**Erik: But don't worry, there'll be violence in the story too. Just more in the Author's Notes.**

**Other Erik: OOWW! My EYE!**

**Onyxx: SUCCESS! My laptop!**

**Other Erik: (drops whatchamajiggy on her head like he did Carlotta and takes laptop)**

**Onyxx: DAMN YOU, OTHER ERIK!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Onyxx: NOOOO!**

**Other Erik: What in God's name are you screaming at?**

**Onyxx: Erik …**

**Other Erik: What about Erik?**

**Onyxx: HE'S STUCK IN THE FANTASY REALM NOW!**

**Other Erik: Why?**

**Onyxx: Because of the plot for the "Not Again" sequel.**

**Other Erik: And this is upsetting why?**

**Onyxx: Because I'm stuck with _you_ now!**

**Other Erik: And that's a bad thing? (glares)**

**Onyxx: No, not exactly … it's just that …**

**Other Erik: What is it? Spit it out, woman!**

**Onyxx: (evil grin) There's no one here to stop us from killing each other now. (pulls out lasso)**

**Other Erik: Wha … wait … how did you get that out of my coat?**

**Onyxx: MUAHAHAHAHA!**

**(door opens, then slams shut) STOP!**

**Onyxx: No … it can't be …**

**Other Erik: (cringes) IT IS!**

**Onyxx: WHYYYYY?**

**(mysterious stranger tackles Other Erik to the ground, takes lasso from Onyxx, then ties them both up) Unless you stop fighting and get back to the story, I will never let either of you go.**

**Onyxx: Okay, fine. Just stay the hell away from me.**

**Stranger: I'll kiss you if you don't.**

**Onyxx: GAAH! Okay! Fine! Just stay awaaaaaay!**

**Stranger: Hahaha, here's your laptop.**

**Onyxx: (mutters under her breath) Stupid long-haired pansy.**

**Stranger: What did you just call me?**

**Onyxx: Nothing …**

**Stranger: Say you love me or I'll kiss you.**

**Onyxx: GAAAAH! Noooooo! Please don't!**

**Stranger: (comes closer)**

**Onyxx: OKAY! Fine. I … l-l … l-love … y-y-y- …**

**Stranger: (lips pucker up)**

**Onyxx: I LOVE YOU! There. Happy?**

**Stranger: Very. (sits comfortably on couch.) Now write.**

**So who is the stranger? A character named after you if you're the first one to review and have it figured out! (I'll PM you and get your first name if you're right.)**

Chapter Five:

"So this is Virginia?" I said as we stepped off the train.

"Yep," Chelsea said, taking in a deep breath of the country air. "Isn't she beautiful?"

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped as I took in the Virginia landscape. I was rendered speechless at the rolling hills and mountains in the distance. "Yes," I breathed, wanting dearly to paint this place.

She led me through the winding streets of some small city I can't remember the name of (though I must learn in time, otherwise I won't even pass as an Englishman) and toward a mansion.

Chelsea rapped on the door loudly, fidgeting as she waited for it to open. When it finally did, a small, elderly lady stood in front of us.

"Chelsea!" she shrieked, pulling her into a hug. "Oh, it's been too long! What have you been up to all these years?" She pulled away from Chelsea and looked at me. "Oh?" Her eyebrows widened. "Who is this?"

"Aunt Matilda," Chelsea said, pulling me up the steps, "this is my . . . fiance, Erik."

I tried not to appear surprised, but I had no clue whether I succeeded. Probably not.

Aunt Matilda pulled me into a hug, and I glared at Chelsea over the little woman's shoulder. _You had better have a good explanation for this,_ I said with my eyes, narrowing them as Matilda pulled away.

"Oh, it's so nice to meet you!" she said, smiling. "Oh, come in, come in! You'll catch cold out here!"

Cold? My eyes widened. It was winter, true, but not cold. Still, I followed the little woman in the house and pulled Chelsea to the side.

"There had better be a good reason for this," I hissed, clenching my jaw.

"It's not a good idea to tell her exactly who you are, Erik, at least until she's heard your side of the story." Chelsea took my hand and pulled me along, her eyes laughing. "Come on, my love," she giggled, leading me into the house. I sighed, trying to resist strangling her.

Matilda led us into the sitting room, giving me a glass of some brown liquid with ice cubes in it, and pulling Chelsea into a seat beside her. "Now, dear, tell me how you two met," she said, her eyes twinkling.

I took a sip of the contents of the glass. Tea? On ice? What strange customs these Americans have.

Chelsea began her fabricated story. "Well, Erik saved my life a few months back," she said, the lie spilling from her lips easily. "He had just come to England from France, so he didn't have anywhere to stay. In return for saving my life, Daddy gave him a room in our house. After that Erik and I began courting, and he proposed last week." Chelsea paused for breath. "Well, he decided he wanted to see America, and I wanted my wedding here anyway. So here we are!"

Funny how she left out the whole Phantom of the Opera ordeal.

Matilda smiled at me. "Well, thank you for saving my niece's life, monsieur." She widened her eyes, then looked at Chelsea. "He does speak English, right?"

"Oh, yes," I interrupted, shaking my head. "I'm . . . from England. I was raised in France." In truth, I had no idea where I was from. Abandoned at a young age, I was taken in by the Gypsies and knew nothing of my origins. "I returned to England to take care of financial affairs for my father."

Matilda smiled at me. "Oh." She cleared her throat then stared at my mask. "Why are you wearing that?" she asked, gesturing to it.

I felt my face grow hot, and looked away. "I . . . I was born deformed," I explained. "The right half of my face is . . . horrible to look at."

Matilda stood and walked over to me, taking my mask off. I looked away in shame.

"Oh, honey, it's not that bad," she said, turning me to face her. "You won't have to wear that here. And who told you it was horrible? I'll whip their tails." Smiling good-naturedly, Matilda sat back down, giving me back the mask. I didn't move to replace it.

Acceptance was not something I was used to. It was a strange thing. Though I was still unaccustomed to the thought of not wearing my mask in public, I knew that, in time, I would be used to it.

Matilda and Chelsea chatted for a long while afterwards, and soon, we were led to a room upstairs.

I gulped.

One bed.

Matilda led us inside. "It ain't much, but it's comfortable, with a view." She smiled and turned back the blankets of the bed. "If you get any . . . urges . . ."

"Oh, that won't be a problem," I hastily put in. "We're . . . waiting until we're married." Such a good excuse for now.

Matilda nodded, then left the room. "If you need anything, pull this rope. It'll ring a bell and a servant will come upstairs for you."

She left the room, closing the door behind her.

Chelsea plopped onto the bed, staring at me, smirking. "Won't you lie down, my love?" she said in a breathy voice, ending the sentence with a fit of giggles. "Come, aren't we engaged to be married?"

I grit my teeth and took off my coat, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What are we going to do when they expect us to be married soon?" I growled, pulling off my boots.

She sighed. "I have it all planned out. Well, two plans, actually. One of them involves a botched engagement and adultery, ending in complete separation, the other is we actually _do_ get married. Pick one."

"Both of them sound atrocious."

"If Plan A goes into effect, we'll be separated forever and you won't be able to protect me."

"That's not a good idea. I owe your father. But go on."

"And your reputation will be ruined."

"Wait, _my_ reputation?" I turned to look at her. "I would be the one to be unfaithful?"

"Yes," she said, rolling her eyes. "I can't ruin myself among my family."

I cringed. "What's the other plan?" Standing, I began to remove my shirt.

"We get married, move into the country, and you can protect me." Chelsea looked away, her face flushed. I raised an eyebrow, then shook my head. "We only have to pretend, though."

"Simply for the purpose of me repaying your father by protecting you." I sighed, lying on the very edge of the bed.

She hesitated before answering, and I thought I heard a little disappointment in her voice. "Yes, of course."

I sat up and blew out the candle, enveloping the room in darkness.

**Onyxx: THERE! Are you happy now?**

**Stranger: Very. But when will I appear in the story?**

**Onyxx: Next chapter. Sheesh. Leave me alone.**

**Stranger: I'll kiss you.**

**Onyxx: I just decided that I don't care, you pansy.**

**(Stranger kisses Onyxx)**

**Onyxx: (gags) NO! Please! No more!**

**Stranger: Admit it. You LIKED it!**

**Onyxx: (blush) NO! Please don't do it again!**

**Stranger: Hahaha! You LIKED it!**

**Onyxx: SHUT THE HELL UP!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Onyxx: Congrats to IamthePhantomoftheOpera, you got it right!**

**Stranger: And you won't have to keep referring to me by 'Stranger'.**

**Onyxx: Just a while longer. By the way, he appears later in this chapter. Then you know who he is.**

**Erik: I hate you both.**

**Onyxx: Love you too, Erik.**

**Stranger: I can't say the same.**

**Onyxx: Be nice. No fighting. Erik, I know you desperately want to pull out your sword, but please don't.**

**Erik: WHYYY?**

**Stranger: Because she needs me for the story. (hugs Onyxx) Don't you, my love?**

**Onyxx: GAAAH let me GO!**

**Stranger: (kisses her)**

**Onyxx: NOOOO! Please! Let go of me!**

**Erik: Good God, I think she's melting!**

**Onyxx: AAAAAH HELP MEEEEEE!**

Chapter Six:

I woke to the muffled sound of piano music from downstairs. Someone kept hitting all the wrong keys and crying out in frustration. Seeing as how the bed was empty and I knew that voice all too well, I decided to go help Chelsea before she hurt herself trying to kill the piano.

Pulling on my shirt, I walked down the stairs, leaving my mask behind.

The piano was in the library, and I followed the music to find it. Chelsea slumped before it, staring at the sheet music before her, trying to play the notes and failing to great extent.

Silently, I sat down beside her, taking her hands in mine and glancing at the paper. It startled me to find that it was none other than "Point of No Return" from _Don Juan Triumphant._ Still, I directed her hands, playing it for her over and over to familiarize the notes.

After a while, she was able to do it on her own. Chelsea beamed up at me as she played it by herself, and I began singing.

_"Past the point of no return, no backward glances. Our games of make-believe are at an end."_ I glanced at her. I hadn't realized I had been leaning closer until our lips were almost touching. Her eyes were closed, she had stopped playing, and I was breathing heavily.

_Do it,_ the voice said. The one I hated because it always brought up Christine. Though it sang a different tune now. _Kiss her._

As I had just made up my mind to kiss her, the library door banged open.

Chelsea jumped up, smoothing down her skirt, and I silently cursed myself for my hesitation.

"Chelsea and Erik might be in here. Lord knows I can't hold that girl still. I heard piano music a minute ago." It was Matilda, and two other people.

"Oh, Matilda, thank you again for letting us stay here," the woman said. The voice broke my heart into a million pieces. I knew that voice.

"Yes. Thank you." The other voice I knew as well, though it made my blood boil.

Matilda brought the two people into the library, and the three of us glanced at each other.

Raoul de Chagny's hand twitched to his left side, where he usually kept his sword, and his wife Christine put her hand over her mouth.

**Onyxx: THERE! Happy I finally introduced you?**

**Raoul: Yes. Yes I am.**

**Erik: Maybe you should kill him off. I'd be more than happy to help . . .**

**Onyxx: No, Erik. Unfortunately, you can't kill Raoul yet. We have to wait and see if he pisses you off in the story.**

**Erik: He's pissing me off NOW!**

**Raoul: Do I annoy you?**

**Erik: I'm not giving you the satisfaction of an answer to that question.**

**Raoul: Knock, knock.**

**Erik: Don't do it, Onyxx. Don't do it. If you value our agreement not to kill each other, don't do it.**

**Raoul: Do it. _DO IT._**

**Erik: Don't do it!**

**Raoul: DOOOO EEEEEET.**

**Onyxx: ...Who's there?**

**Erik: I told you _NOT _to!**

**Raoul: Orange.**

**Erik: No. No. No, no, no! _Hell_ no! No! No, no! I refu-No. No. No. _No._ No. NO!**

**Raoul: ...**

**Onyxx: ...**

**Erik: _ORANGE WHO, DAMMIT?_**

**Raoul: Orange you pissed that she decided to involve me in the story? XD**

**Erik: (grabs lasso and jumps across the coffee table at Raoul)**

**

* * *

**

**Yeah, I did steal that scene from _Cop Out._ I just had to use it because Tracy Morgan and Seann William Scott made me laugh my ass off.**

**So, now you know who "the Stranger" is. I know, I picked a lousy nickname for him.**

**Well, review and tell me what you think about involving Raoul. Though I'd love to to a story specifically about Raoul's stupidity, he's not going to be a complete idiot in this one. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Onyxx: Well, Raoul and Erik are still going at it. So here's Chapter Seven without them.**

**Erik: Don't you dare introduce Chapter Seven without me, **_**tu ignorant vacă! Ar trebui sa te sugrume si atarna tu de la ventilator tavan!**_

**Raoul: I think he just screamed at you in Romanian . . .**

**Onyxx: I know. I speak Romanian pretty well. What he said was, "... you ignorant cow! I should strangle you and hang you from the ceiling fan!"**

**Erik: **_**Die, fiu de catea, mor! Mama ta a fost o curvă şi tatăl tău futut sora ta toata noaptea!**_

**Raoul: What did he say?**

**Onyxx: You really don't want to know.**

Chapter Seven:

I stayed still, glaring at him with all the hate in the world, but Chelsea's hand on mine soothed me. She must have felt the immense loathing radiating off me.

Chelsea smiled. "Cousin, it's good to see you," she said, directing the conversation to Christine. "This is Erik, my _fiance_." She emphasized 'fiance.'

Christine managed a smile. "Yes, we've already met. And this is my _husband_, Raoul." She spat the word 'husband' at me, making sure to glare at me as she spoke. "But I'm sure you remember him from our childhood, when you would visit the house by the sea."

I stood, storming out of the room, brushing past Raoul and up the stairs.

Once in mine and Chelsea's room, I threw myself onto the bed, letting the tears fall.

Now that I thought about it, Chelsea did resemble Christine, a tiny bit. They were both tall and slender with big eyes and dark hair. How did I not notice this before?

I don't know when I fell into a deep slumber, but it was after nightfall when a small hand shook me out of my nightmares of Christine.

Chelsea's blue eyes were filled with sadness. "Erik . . ." she whispered, stroking my deformed cheek. "I'm sorry. I should have told you we were related."

"It's fine," I said, returning the caring gesture. "I shouldn't have stormed out like that."

She smirked. "If it makes you feel better, Raoul has vowed never to return as long as you're staying here."

I laughed, then sighed and stood, lighting the candle beside the bed. "Perhaps it is more for his own good than mine," I said, taking off my shirt and sitting back down.

Chelsea sat beside me, taking my hand in hers. "Matilda and I discussed a date," she said, looking into my eyes. "For our 'marriage.'" She smirked as she said it.

"Really?" I raised one eyebrow. "And what day is our 'wedding' to be?" I couldn't help but smile. We were really going to pretend we were getting married.

"Next Sunday seemed ideal." Looking away, she said softly, "Will you teach me to sing?"

Uh-oh. The last time that had happened . . . well . . . you saw what happened with Raoul and Christine earlier.

I opened my mouth to say 'no,' but instead, "Yes," was what I heard.

Chelsea leapt at me, throwing her arms around me, squealing like a happy child, causing us to fall off the bed and into the floor.

I landed on my back, but soon had her pinned to the floor, giggling.

"I'm not letting you up," I warned, laughing as well. "You knocked me into the floor, now you're going to have to pay for it."

I didn't really notice our proximity until Matilda knocked on the door, bringing in a teatray and saw us un the floor, me pinning her down with her hands over her head. Eyes widening, she put the tray down and backed slowly out the door.

"No, it's not what it looks like," I tried to say, but Chelsea cut me off by laughing.

Glaring at her, I stood up and slid into the bed. "I hope you know you're sleeping on the floor tonight," I growled, tossing her a pillow.

"No, I'm not." Chelsea went behind the room divider, tossing her dark indigo dress up over it. The room divider was made of some kind of light cloth and a small, springy wood. She had a candle behind it with her, casting her silhouette through the cloth. It took every ounce of self-reserve I had to look away.

When she returned, she wore a long, modest nightgown. Fully intent on keeping her out of the bed, I spread out like a starfish with a smirk on my face.

Completely ignoring me, she lay down, halfway on top of me. Frowning, I looked down at her, curled up with her head on my chest, then actually forgot how to frown. She was already asleep.

Sighing, I pulled her closer and positioned her so she would be more comfortable, then soon fell asleep beside her.

Again, Christine did not appear in my dreams.

**Onyxx: Erik, did you really have to break his nose?**

**Erik: He deserves it!**

**Raoul: You asshole!**

**Erik: Shut up, or I'll break something else!**

**Onyxx: Erik, you can't hurt him! He's useful!**

**Erik: How?**

**Onyxx: Raoul, go wash the dishes or I'll unleash Erik.**

**(Raoul scurries to the kitchen)**

**Onyxx: See?**

**Erik: I like the idea of having him around now.**

**Onyxx: See, knew you would. X3**


	8. Chapter 8

**Onyxx: Whoo! Had to fast-forward a week because you really don't want to hear the beginnings of Chelsea's singing lessons.**

**Chelsea: Hey!**

**Onyxx: Just kidding. Actually, she's very good. She just sucks at hitting high notes.**

**Erik: Do not insult my student, you ignorant cow!**

**Onyxx: Takes one to know one.**

**Chelsea: Yeah, it does, Erik.**

**Erik: Great. Now they're teaming up against me. THE WHOLE WORLD IS CONSPIRING AGAINST ME!**

**Onyxx: Erik, Erik, calm down. Calm. It's okay.**

**Erik: IT'S NOT OKAY! You're all plotting against me!**

**Chelsea: Erik, no one is plotting against you. Except maybe Raoul.**

**Onyxx: Where is Raoul, by the way?**

**Chelsea: I tied him up and locked him in the basement.**

**Onyxx: Ah. How's his nose?**

**Chelsea: Rebroken.**

**Onyxx: You broke his nose?**

**Chelsea: Yep. It was fun.**

**Erik: Be that as it may, we have a chapter to introduce.**

**Onyxx: Ah, yes. Chapter Eight, a wonderful chapter. I loved writing it.**

**Chelsea: (hums 'Here Comes The Bride')**

Chapter Eight:

_One Week Later_

I fiddled with the buttons of my coat, then readjusted my mask. Whether she wanted me to wear it or not, I was _not _showing my deformity to Chelsea's entire family. I didn't want them to pity me, nor fear me. The mask, itself, anyway, was an important part of me. If I didn't wear it on my wedding day—despite it not really being a wedding—I would remember this as the day the Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost, and the Angel of Music were not present for Erik's wedding. _Fake_ _wedding,_ I reminded myself. It had become hard to discern the fine line between fantasy and reality with me and Chelsea as of late. I think . . . I think I'm growing . . . _fond_ of her. I mean . . . oh, you get the idea!

As I finally had my mask on the way I wanted it, Matilda knocked on the door before entering. She held something behind her back, and gave it to me.

Two shining gold rings glinted up at me. I looked at her, shaking my head. "No. I cannot take them from you."

"You will," Matilda insisted. "They have been passed down in our family for ages. When one of us Ivys dies, we give our wedding rings to the next couple. Of course, she'll be a Devereaux now," Matilda added, shrugging. "Still. It's a tradition."

I sighed. "All right. We'll wear them."

Matilda smiled. "Come on, now. Come meet the rest of the family."

She tugged me down the stairs and into the sitting room, where a large crowd of at least twenty relatives had gathered, smiling and chatting.

One girl stared at me for a long time, with the same dark hair and blue eyes as the rest of the family, though not quite as pale as Chelsea. I wondered if maybe she was just curious about the mask.

I was introduced to every last one of them. Uncle Timothy, Aunt Laurie, Cousin William . . . the list was endless.

Finally, we reached the family of the teenage girl. Uncle Sam (I swear, that was his real name), Aunt Alice and their daughter, Toni.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Devereaux," Sam said, shaking my hand. He was a large bear of a man, with a full beard and hair on his arms and the back of his hands. Almost seven feet tall, he towered over me, and I was at first convinced he actually was a grizzly.

I smiled. "Please, just call me Erik," I said. I turned to Alice, who smiled and said how wonderful it was that Chelsea had fallen in love with such a fine man. I tried not to laugh, then turned to Toni.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and I tilted my head, shaking her hand.

Toni pulled my ear down to her and whispered, "I know who you are. You're the Phantom of the Opera."

I must've looked shocked, because Sam and Alice had a worried look on their face. Covering it up, I quickly stood with a smile and made up some story about how, "Yes, dear, I already know Chelsea snores."

I turned to Matilda and babbled about needing some air, then went outside. Leaning against the railing of the wraparound porch, I tried to breathe, but the air wouldn't force itself into my lungs.

A small hand on my back made me jump, swearing under my breath, but it was only Chelsea.

"What's wrong, Erik?" she said, concerned.

I turned back to the beautiful landscape. "It's not safe here," I said, trying to control my voice. "Your cousin—Toni—recognized me. She knows I am the Phantom of the Opera."

"Toni won't tell," Chelsea said, shaking her head.

I scoffed. "How do you know?"

"Because I saw the way you looked after you talked to her and gave her a lecture." Chelsea smirked. "And besides, Toni would cover for you. Her family worked on the Underground Railroad during the war. She's good at keeping secrets."

"Keeping secrets for murderers?" I sighed, turning back around, and pulled Chelsea into an embrace. "I hope you're right. Or we might have to go to Mexico."

Laughing, she pulled away. "Come on. We must prepare for our 'wedding.'" She pulled me back into the house, and then went upstairs to get ready.

Matilda drove me in her coach to the chapel, a small white shurch with a little cross on the steeple. I had to wait nearly an hour before the reception actually started.

I stood, barely listening to the preacher's words as I waited for Chelsea to come out of the doors and get this over with. I had the rings in my pocket.

Finally, after an agonizing wait, the doors burst open, and an angel walked down the aisle with Bill's arm linked around hers. Chelsea smiled at me from behind the veil, those blue eyes shining like sapphires. The wedding dress was white and pristine, angelic and holy in appearance. From its make, I assumed it had also been passed down through the generations.

I couldn't focus on the priest's words, only Chelsea's blue eyes behind the veil. I repeated the vows mechanically, not really paying attention, and took the rings from my pocket. I slipped it on Chelsea's finger, and she gave me the other.

"Do you, Erik Devereaux, take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?" the preacher asked.

"I do," I said. This was becoming more awkward by the minute.

He asked her, and she looked into my eyes as she said "I do."

"You may kiss the bride."

Uh-oh. I had only kissed someone once before. Actually, Christine had kissed me. I had virtually no part in it.

I threw back her veil and leaned forward slowly, taking Chelsea's hands in my own, and kissed her. It was . . . awkward. There's no other word that can descibe the 'wedding,' and yet, 'awkward' doesn't do it justice.

As I pulled away, I saw a hazy, confused look in Chelsea's eyes. She was blushing madly, her face cherry-red.

After the church had dispersed and Chelsea and I arrived back at Matilda's, I tossed myself onto the bed like a ragdoll, exhausted.

This had been a long, agonizing day, and sleep would come too easily.

Chelsea laughed. "What, no wedding night?" she asked, giggling.

I managed a smile as she lay down beside me. "No. Too tired."

She laughed and pulled the blankets around her, turning onto her side to sleep.

Without a moment's hesitation, I turned around to curl myself around her, one arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She seemed confused at first, but if she protested, I didn't hear it. I was already asleep.

**Onyxx: D'aaaaaaaaww!**

**Chelsea: Erik, you're actually capable of affection! :D I'm so proud of you!**

**Erik: I will strangle you both.**

**Onyxx: Nah. I think you're just a big softie.**

**Chelsea: Hahaha yeah. A big teddy bear.**

**Erik: (growls and chases them with lasso)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Onyxx: Erik is upset because we called him a teddy bear, so if he actually says anything, forgive him for being cranky and depressed.**

**Chelsea: Yeah. Poor thing can't take a joke.**

**Onyxx: But we have a PHANtastic new chapter (hehe get it, "PHAN"...never mind) to give you!**

**Chelsea: Prepare for romance, revealed secrets, violence, and tragedy. I cried while writing it.**

Chapter Nine:

The next morning, I woke alone, Chelsea's side of the bed still faintly warm. I stood, put on a shirt that had been draped on the chair beside the bed, and walked down the stairs.

Everything was silent, and according to a note saying that Matilda had gone to the market, things would be silent for a while. I walked into the library and toward the piano.

As I expected, Chelsea was sitting in front of it, but she wasn't playing. She was singing.

_"Past the point of no return," _she sang, _"No going back now. Our passion play has now at last begun. Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question: How long should . . ."_

My voice joined hers in harmony. "_ . . . should we two wait before we're one?"_

She looked up, startled, but still sang. _"When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?"_

_ "Past the point of no return, the final threshold. The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn." _I held her hands in mine for dear life, breathing heavily, pulling her into my arms, holding her close, staring into her eyes. _"We've passed the point of no . . . return."_

Chelsea looked up at me, her eyes filled with sadness. _"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime . . ."_

I cut her off with a kiss, unable to stand it anymore.

We broke apart suddenly, still holding hands.

Chelsea's breath was now as labored as mine. "What . . . what was that?" she asked. "What . . . You just kissed me."

I paused. "Yes. I kissed you yesterday too."

She shook her head. "No. I mean, you _kissed_ me," she said, looking back at me. "You really _kissed_ me. Not like the one from yesterday."

I know, I said silently. Instead of speaking, I kissed her again, pulling her into my arms. She moaned and melted into me, apparently unable to stand by herself. Holding her up, I deepened the kiss, one hand tangled in her hair.

"I love you, Erik," she whispered.

The library doors burst open, and Chelsea and I pulled away, turning to the door.

In burst the bane of my life, the thorn in my flesh, the (for lack of a better phrase) pain in my ass, Raoul de Chagny.

With company.

The policemen charged in, led by Raoul, who pointed at me, shouting, "It's him! He's the Phantom of the Opera!"

They raised their guns to me, and I threw myself in front of Chelsea, drawing a sword from the coat of arms on the wall. I pulled her to the floor, ducking, as bullets whizzed by over our heads.

I rolled to the side. "Chelsea, get under the piano stool!" I ordered, standing, cutting down one brave officer that had run at me. I turned to see that she had, then went after the other policemen.

I had killed three more, and one lay dying on the floor, his throat cut. Blood was spattered on my face and clothes, and I was sure I looked like a demon. Chelsea screamed, and I turned to see that Raoul had her by the hair, his sword at her throat.

"Let her go!" I growled, pointing my sword at him.

"Not until you swear to leave this country," Raoul ordered. "You will never bother decent people again. And she will stay here to be protected from your corruption."

I laughed. "Protected?" I said, raising my eyebrows. "I'm protecting her better than you ever could, monseiur. You are the one with a sword at her throat."

"Don't listen to him, Erik!" Chelsea's eyes filled with tears. "Don't listen to him! Whatever he tells you is a lie!"

"Erik?" Raoul said. "So that's your name? Well, _Erik,_ I just thought perhaps you should know Chelsea's little secret."

I narrowed my eyes.

"He's lying!" She tried desperately to free herself from Raoul's grasp. "Please, Erik, don't listen to him!"

"Chelsea is my sister," Raoul said, smiling evilly. "You must see the similarities."

Startled, I glanced from him to Chelsea. He was right. They looked almost like twins, ecept for hair color and complexion. Those deep blue eyes I loved about Chelsea . . . were mirror images of Raoul's.

"No! Erik, no! Don't listen to him! He's lying to you!" Chelsea pleaded.

"Chelsea's mother was an Ivy, true," Raoul said, pulling her hair harder. "But we have the same father. I was introduced to her when her mother and stepfather came to visit one day. I came to visit her family many times here, until the Civil War began. After that, I went to London once a month to see her, where she stayed with her mother. When the events of the Opera Populaire occurred, I stayed in Paris because I now have a family to take care of. But you see, Monseiur Phantom, that Chelsea and I are indeed blood-relation." Smirking, he dropped his sword to his side. "How does it feel to kiss a de Chagny?" he asked, sheathing his blade and pushing Chelsea forward. She almost fell to the floor, but I dropped my weapon and caught her. "Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to be quite as affectionate as me when we visit. She tried to poison me once."

I looked into her tear-filled eyes, so full of secrets. What else had she neglected to tell me?

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I thought . . . maybe if we got married, Raoul wouldn't bother with me anymore. He had told me in a letter about the Phantom of the Opera, and how much he hated you." She pulled away from me, her gaze filled with shame.

Again, I felt the sharp pain in my chest. "You lied to me," I whispered, backing away slowly. She didn't love me. As if I had been stupid enough to think anyone could.

"Erik, it's not what you think," she said, shaking her head.

I turned to the door, too proud to let her see my tears. "And how do you know what I'm thinking?" I asked, pulling open the door and running up the stairs.

"Erik, wait!" Chelsea shouted, running after me. "It's not what you think!"

She grabbed my arm when we reached the next floor, and I shoved her away. Her touch burned my skin where she had made contact. My chest felt hollow, as if my heart had been ripped out and cast into the sea.

I walked into our room—_her_ room now—and gathered my belongings. I tossed everything she had given me out the window—the mask she had bought me, the pocket watch with the gold chain, the top hat that she said made me look like Abraham Lincoln . . .

At last, I reached the last thing we shared, the only thing left that we had in common. My wedding ring.

She knocked on the door, but I didn't answer. The knob rattled as she tried to open it in vain. Not only had I locked it, but I had barred it as well.

I sighed, sinking to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably and gasping for air. The ring. I have to get rid of the ring. It will only be a reminder of her. The ring.

"Erik?" she called. "Erik, please, let me in!"

I knew she had a key. I looked to the open window, then grabbed the bedsheets and fashioned a makeshift rope to climb down. We were only on the second floor, and it was just long enough.

I tied it to the bedpost, then climbed to the ground. Putting on my mask, I ran away into the woods, determined to never turn back. I would never turn back to Chelsea Ivy—Chelsea _Devereaux—_and I would forget everything that ever happened in Virginia.

Why do my plans never work out the way I want them to?

**Onyxx: No, it's not the end. Don't worry.**

**Chelsea: Don't hate me. Please.**

**Erik: Feel free to hate her.**

**(Chelsea hits him)**

**Erik: OW!**

**Onyxx: Well, please review. Please don't hate me either. And don't be sad. There's a happy ending. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Raoul: YES! I have finally escaped the basement!**

**Erik: No, you haven't! (ties Raoul up and throws him down the stairs)**

**Raoul: CURSE YOU!**

Chapter Ten:

_Two Years Later_

A drop of water landed on my nose, and I brushed it away absently, pulling the noose tighter around the man's throat. He gurgled, his eyes bulging out of his head, before finally falling limp and silent.

Taking the rope from around his neck, I walked out of the alley, carrying the child on my hip. Why I had saved him, I may never know. He was young, around six or seven, and regarded me with wide, fear-stricken eyes.

"That man . . ." he whispered, terrified I would give him the same treatment. "He was going to hurt me."

"I know," I whispered, walking down the street. "So I hurt him."

"Where are you taking me, mister?" he asked.

"Do you have a mother?"

"No. She's gone to Heaven to be with God."

"Where do you live?" I had to get him off this topic before he started crying.

"I don't live nowhere, mister."

I sighed, looking around. There were houses lining either side of the streets, few with lights in the windows at this hour. Still, I pressed on, searching for one suitable for this child.

At last, I reached a window where a woman sat, sewing, and knocked on the door.

She answered it, opening her mouth to speak, but I raised a hand.

"Madame," I said, "this boy is in need of a home. I found him on the streets and was wondering if someone could take him in."

Her lips formed an 'o' of surprise, and she looked at the boy, then took him from my arms. "What's your name?" she asked him softly.

"Tommy."

"Well, Tommy, you're staying here now." She smiled, then looked back at me. "You must be an angel in disguise, sent to answer prayers," she remarked, a smirk on her face. "My husband and I have tried for a child for a long time, and here you come, giving not only a home to this boy, but also a child to us. Thank you, sir."

I smiled sadly and nodded. "You're welcome, madame," I said. As she closed the door, I walked away, my usual misery returning. Usually, the euphoria of killing takes it away for a while. However, when the woman called me an angel, it brought bitter memories of Christine. And when I thought of Christine . . . I thought of Chelsea.

I kicked the wall, unable to control my anger and hurt.

I walked toward a tavern, bored out of my mind and in desperate need of a drink. The people of Kentucky, I have observed, make the strongest whiskey, and whiskey is a necessity when you want to forget something. Or someone.

The air of the tavern was polluted by cigar smoke. In one corner, a group of men played poker. I chose the corner opposite them and ordered the strongest whiskey they had.

As I waited for my drink, a prostitute eyed me lustfully. I attempted to keep my attention elsewhere, but when she walked over to me, it was difficult to ignore her.

"How are you tonight?" she asked, smirking.

"Married," I mumbled, staring straight ahead.

"Wife giving you a hard time at home?" she asked. "If you need a little lovin', sugar . . ."

"I'm married, madame. My wife expects me home tonight. And I love her very much and do not wish to hurt her. So please, go away." It was a small lie but it hurt like hell nonetheless. I waved her off and tried vainly not to cry. Tears cascaded down my cheek beneath my mask, and the thought of Chelsea made the gaping hole where my bruised and battered heart beat hurt even worse.

Giving up, she walked over to another man, who gladly took her offer and went out the door with her.

Sighing, I looked over to the bar. The little man was gone, I realized.

I noticed a man staring at me, and I stood, dropping a few coins on the table. Time to move on.

The tale of Le Fantôme de l'Opéra had reached the ears of the American people by now, no doubt spread far from the mouth of Raoul de Chagny.

Walking out of the tavern, I took off my mask and covered my face with my cloak. With luck, I would make it out of Frankfort before dawn.

I walked to the inn where I was staying and paid the innkeeper for the few nights I had slept there, then walked to the stable to get my carriage.

Something wasn't right. My horses were in the stables like they were wupposed to be, but they fidgeted and counted uncontrollably. I patted Faust's neck before turning my attention to Orpheus, calming both of them.

I felt cold metal at the back of my neck, and sighed deeply. "Shoot me. You'll be doing me a favor."

A female voice answered, "But Chelsea will get nothing out of it."

Shocked, I whirled around. A tall girl with dark brown hair and a pair of deep blue eyes held the pistol pointed toward my chest.

"Toni?" I hissed, taking her by the shoulders. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me? Is Chelsea with you?"

"I'm trying to convince you to come back to Chelsea, you aren't that hard to track, and Chelsea doesn't know I'm here. But I'm not alone." A smug smirk played on her lips, and I felt a rough, firm hand grip my shoulder. Terrified, I turned to face none other than Mr. Ivy, Chelsea's stepfather. His warm, pale-blue eyes were filled with sadness and had dark circles beneath them, as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Erik," he said, pulling me into an embrace. "You saved her life once before. I firmly believe you can do it again."

"Mr. Ivy, what's wrong with Chelsea?" I asked, pulling away. "Is she hurt? Has she been kidnapped?"

"No, none of that," the older man said, shaking his head. "Chelsea's sick."

"What illness does she have?" I asked, alarmed. "Is it fatal? Can it be cured?"

"It can be fatal if not tended to, and there is only one cure." He held my shoulders firmly, looking into my eyes. "She's lovesick. She needs you."

I shook my head, laughing. "Chelsea doesn't love me. She said herself the only reason she married me was to get Raoul to leave her alone."

"Originally, the only reason you married her was to keep her safe," Toni pointed out.

"That's beside the point," I said, waving both of them off. "It at least proves I cared. She married me for the simple purpose of using me as a repellent of that . . . pest."

"Do you still care about her?" Mr. Ivy asked, turning me to face him.

I hesitated, looking away. Sighing, I nodded submissively. "Yes," I admitted, running my hands over my face. "I do. I think about her every day, and I pray to God that she's alright."

"She needs you now, Erik," Toni said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Go to her."

I nodded, opening the door to Faust's stall and leading the black stallion out, did the same with Orpheus, then had Mr. Ivy assist me in attaching them to the carriage.

Once we were finished, I climbed into the driver's seat and rode off, praying I could make it to Virginia before it was too late.

**Raoul: (sneaks through basement door silently, like a ninja)**

**(Real ninjas attack him)**

**Raoul: AAAAH! (dives down basement stairs)**

**(Erik and Onyxx pull off ninja masks)**

**Onyxx: High five?**

**Erik: Sure, what the hell.**

**Onyxx: :D OMG! You just high-five'd me!**

**Erik: ... And ... ?**

**Onyxx: ... Never mind.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Onyxx: So, I recently realized that Chapter 11 and the Alternate Ending were almost identical . . . so I went and fixed that . . .**

**Erik: That was a damn fail.**

**Onyxx: Not my fault! I blame my laptop. Stupid computer. (glares)**

**Erik: Well, this is the REAL Chapter 11. And this one also has a happy ending. Just . . . not as happy as the other one.**

**Raoul: I can HEAR you!**

Chapter Eleven:

The Virginia landscape never ceased to amaze me.

I rode up to Matilda's large house and knocked on the door, praying she would answer.

I fidgeted for a while before the little old woman opened the door. Her surprised face had aged a century in the two years I hadn't seen her. Her eyes had sunken in, she had lines of worry all over her wrinkled face, and she seemed to be upset.

"Matilda . . ." I began.

I was cut off by a slap to the face. Flinching, I looked back at her. "I deserved that. Where is Chelsea?"

She slapped me again. "She's in her room."

Grimacing, I held my stinging cheek. "Oh, how I've missed you, Matilda," I said, meaning every word.

She sobbed, pulling me into a hug. "You great ignorant cow!" she sobbed, leaning into my chest.

Pulling away, she grabbed my arm and dragged me to Chelsea's room.

When she opened the door, my throat constricted. Chelsea's room was dark, lit by a few candles here and there. She lay in her bed, so pale and sickly that at first, I thought I had arrived too late.

"Chelsea?" Matilda called. "You have a visitor."

"Tell Raoul if he returns, I'll kill myself." Oh, her voice . . . I had ached to hear that beautiful voice, but it had grown weak and hoarse. "I won't eat another meal if he doesn't leave. I'll starve myself."

Matilda opened her mouth to speak, but I silenced her. Walking into the room, I took a deep breath.

_"Past the point of no return, no backward glances . . ." _I paused to see her reaction.

Chelsea froze. She didn't breathe for a moment, but her lips parted as she whispered, "Erik . . ."

_" . . . Our games of make-believe are at an end."_ I knelt beside her still frame, gripping her hand, my voice cracking because of the tears that threatened to spill.

Chelsea opened her eyes and sat up to look at me. Taking off my mask, she stroked my deformed cheek, then buried her face in the crook of my neck. I felt tears on my skin, and held her while her body shook with earth-shattering sobs.

I heard the door close behind me, and Matilda's footsteps down the stairs.

Chelsea pulled away to look into my eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, crying. "I should have told you. I didn't realize . . ."

I placed a finger over her mouth. "No, Chelsea," I said, tracing the shape of her pale lips. "It was my fault. I have a terrible temper and I should have listened to your side of the story. And . . ." I paused, trying not to cry. "I should have believed you when you said you loved me."

I pulled her lips to mine in a brief kiss. Resting my forehead on hers, I sighed. "Oh, Chelsea, how I've missed you."

Her finger stroked the ring on my left hand. "You kept it," she said softly, rubbing the gold band. "You kept the wedding ring."

"Well," I said, smiling, "we _are_ married. I would have no other."

She laughed, pulling off my wig. "I am married to Erik Devereaux, the Angel of Music, not the Phantom of the Opera. You don't need the mask or wig anymore."

I smiled. As I was about to speak, the door burst open.

Cold metal touched the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. "Stand, fiend," Raoul de Chagny hissed. "I told you to leave the country and never to return or see my sister again."

I stood, reaching into my coat for my lasso. "And I told you I could protect her better than you ever could. Look what my absence has done to her." As he looked at Chelsea, I tossed the rope over his head, pulling it tight around his neck.

Covering her mouth to stifle a gasp, Chelsea's eyes widened with fear.

I pulled Raoul to the ground, and sighed, keeping the rope just loose enough so he could breathe. I needed him to be able to speak, after all.

Breathing heavily, I held his shoulder down as he thrashed. "The more you struggle, the tighter I will make it," I growled, glaring down at him. "Listen, Vicomte. You have a choice. Take everything you own and return to France with Christine. Never come back to America unless it is official business. Never try to see Chelsea again. Call off the manhunt on me. Never try to contact us. Or you can refuse this and I will kill you. It will be the final act of Le Fantôme de l'Opéra." I paused a moment, thinking. "No, death is too easy for you. It's a quick relief of the struggles of life. Instead, the Opera Ghost will haunt you for the rest of your days. You will see me in every shadow, you will hear my voice at the stroke of midnight, whispering in your ear. So, Raoul de Chagny. Make your choice."

He spit in my face, but submitted to my will. "You incompetent bastard!" he hissed. "Rot in hell, you half-human gargoyle! I will return to France and call off the hunt, but I will do so with honor." He stood, pulling the rope from around his neck. "This will be our last meeting, Phantom. If I ever see your face again, I will kill you."

"I can say the same." I stood and walked to Chelsea's side as the door slammed behind me. I stroked her pale cheek and knelt down again, smiling.

This was the end of the life of the Phantom of the Opera. Erik Devereaux would start anew, forge a new existence from the shattered remains of the old. And he wouldn't do it alone.

Chelsea stared into my eyes for a moment before pulling me into her arms, resting her head on my shoulder.

_Epilogue:_

"Erik!"

I sighed as I heard Chelsea's shout echo around the cellar of our small Virginia plantation. I put my knife down and stroked the wood of my lated project, then turned to the opening door.

Smiling brightly, Chelsea ran into my arms and kissed me. Startled, I pulled away, looking into her eyes.

"Erik, I have amazing news!" she whispered softly, her hand finding my own and stroking the gold ring. She kissed me again, then pushed me away gently.

"Well, what is it?" I asked, confused.

"You're going to be a daddy!" She giggled softly.

I sat down in my workchair, feeling as if I had been whacked in the head with a skillet. "I'm . . . You're pregnant?" I said dumbly, looking back at her.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Can you believe it?"

I wasn't sure. "You're serious? This isn't one of your jokes, is it? You _do_ have a strange sense of humor."

She laughed, then knelt beside me. "I'm absolutely serious, Erik," she assured me, stroking my cheek. "We're going to be parents. After so long, trying so hard . . ."

I smirked. "You enjoyed the trying, though," I whispered, taking her hands in mine and pulling her into a kiss.

She laughed and hugged me. "Oh, Erik . . ." she whispered. "We're going to be a family."

I smiled.


	12. Alternate Ending

**Onyxx: This is the Alternate Ending.**

**Erik: I like this one better.**

**Onyxx: Well, Raoul lived to be an old man in the movie, so it wouldn't be right to kill him at the end of the story.**

**Raoul: See, you DO love me.**

**Onyxx: No, I despise you.**

**Raoul: Then why are you letting me live?**

**Onyxx: So Erik can further torment you. Death is a release from that, and you're too annoying to be let off THAT easily.**

**Erik: You got that right. Now, back to the basement!**

**Raoul: NOO! It's dark and cold and wet down there! And there are RATS!**

**Erik: … Your point being … ? (throws Raoul down the stairs)**

**Raoul: NOO! Please, God, no!**

The Virginia landscape never ceased to amaze me.

I rode up to Matilda's large house and knocked on the door, praying she would answer.

I fidgeted for a while before the little old woman opened the door. Her surprised face had aged a century in the two years I hadn't seen her. Her eyes had sunken in, she had lines of worry all over her wrinkled face, and she seemed to be upset.

"Matilda . . ." I began.

I was cut off by a slap to the face. Flinching, I looked back at her. "I deserved that. Where is Chelsea?"

She slapped me again. "She's in her room."

Grimacing, I held my stinging cheek. "Oh, how I've missed you, Matilda," I said, meaning every word.

She sobbed, pulling me into a hug. "You great ignorant cow!" she sobbed, leaning into my chest.

Pulling away, she grabbed my arm and dragged me to Chelsea's room.

When she opened the door, my throat constricted. Chelsea's room was dark, lit by a few candles here and there. She lay in her bed, so pale and sickly that at first, I thought I had arrived too late.

"Chelsea?" Matilda called. "You have a visitor."

"Tell Raoul if he returns, I'll kill myself." Oh, her voice . . . I had ached to hear that beautiful voice, but it had grown weak and hoarse. "I won't eat another meal if he doesn't leave. I'll starve myself."

Matilda opened her mouth to speak, but I silenced her. Walking into the room, I took a deep breath.

_"Past the point of no return, no backward glances . . ." _I paused to see her reaction.

Chelsea froze. She didn't breathe for a moment, but her lips parted as she whispered, "Erik . . ."

_" . . . Our games of make-believe are at an end."_ I knelt beside her still frame, gripping her hand, my voice cracking because of the tears that threatened to spill.

Chelsea opened her eyes and sat up to look at me. Taking off my mask, she stroked my deformed cheek, then buried her face in the crook of my neck. I felt tears on my skin, and held her while her body shook with earth-shattering sobs.

I heard the door close behind me, and Matilda's footsteps down the stairs.

Chelsea pulled away to look into my eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, crying. "I should have told you. I didn't realize . . ."

I placed a finger over her mouth. "No, Chelsea," I said, tracing the shape of her pale lips. "It was my fault. I have a terrible temper and I should have listened to your side of the story. And . . ." I paused, trying not to cry. "I should have believed you when you said you loved me."

I pulled her lips to mine in a brief kiss. Resting my forehead on hers, I sighed. "Oh, Chelsea, how I've missed you."

Her finger stroked the ring on my left hand. "You kept it," she said softly, rubbing the gold band. "You kept the wedding ring."

"Well," I said, smiling, "we _are_ married. I would have no other."

She laughed, pulling off my wig. "I am married to Erik Devereaux, the Angel of Music, not the Phantom of the Opera. You don't need the mask or wig anymore."

I smiled. As I was about to speak, the door burst open.

Cold metal touched the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. "Stand, fiend," Raoul de Chagny hissed. "I told you to leave the country and never to return or see my sister again."

I stood, reaching into my coat for my lasso. "And I told you I could protect her better than you ever could. Look what my absence has done to her." As he looked at Chelsea, I tossed the rope over his head, pulling it tight around his neck.

Covering her mouth to stifle a gasp, Chelsea's eyes widened with fear.

I pulled Raoul to the ground, and sighed, keeping the rope just loose enough so he could breathe. I needed him to be able to speak, after all.

Breathing heavily, I held his shoulder down as he thrashed. "The more you struggle, the tighter I will make it," I growled, glaring down at him. "Listen, Vicomte. You have a choice. Take everything you own and return to France with Christine. Never come back to America unless it is official business. Never try to see Chelsea again. Call off the manhunt on me. Never try to contact us. Or you can refuse this and I will kill you. It will be the final act of Le Fantôme de l'Opéra." I paused a moment, thinking. "No, death is too easy for you. It's a quick relief of the struggled of life. Instead, the Opera Ghost will haunt you for the rest of your days. You will see me in every shadow, you will hear my voice at the stroke of midnight, whispering in your ear. So, Raoul de Chagny. Make your choice."

He spit in my face, but submitted to my will. "You incompetent bastard!" he hissed. "Rot in hell, you half-human gargoyle! I will return to France and call off the hunt, but I will do so with honor. Duel me, Phantom. If I win, you leave the country. If you win, I leave and never return. A fair deal."

I removed the rope from around his neck, taking a sword from the coat of arms. "Not exactly fair," I said, taking the sword. "If you want it to be 'fair', you'll have to blindfold me. Though not even that can make up for your dueling skills—or lack thereof." Grinning evilly, I spread my feet apart to balance my weight.

Once the duel began, it was clear who had the upper hand. Being much older than him had given me more time to practice. It was basically a flashback of the graveyard, where Raoul and I had fought, with the exception of me being the one with my sword at his throat while he lay on the ground.

"Yield," I said softly, glaring into his eyes.

Growling like an animal, Raoul rolled away, leaping up and rushing at me unarmed.

The bastard. He knew I wouldn't fight an unarmed man.

I tossed my sword to the side and grabbed my lasso, but I wasn't fast enough. He tackled me to the ground, pulling a dagger from his boot and preparing to cut my throat. I punched him in the face, and he fell backward. Leaping up, I had a new chance to take my noose, and I threw it around his neck.

I yanked him with me toward the door, then tied one end of the rope to the railing of the stairs and tossed him over. Raoul struggled, but soon fell still, dead.

I walked back to Chelsea's room, then picked my mask and wig up off the floor, tossing them into the fireplace.

She crawled out of bed and knelt beside me to watch them burn.

The Phantom of the Opera died with Raoul de Chagny. It was time for Erik Devereaux's life to begin from the ashes of the old.

**Onyxx: Isn't the alternate ending so much better?**

**Raoul: No.**

**Onyxx: Shut it, your opinion isn't necessary. By the way, where did Erik go?**

**Raoul: I dunno.**

**(A dark figure emerges from the shadows, wearing all black and a ninja mask. He silently draws a katana from its sheath and puts it to Raoul's throat.)**

**Raoul: (screams like a girl) Please don't kill me!**

**Onyxx: Kill him.**

**(The ninja grabs the fop by the hair and takes him to the basement door, pushing him down the stairs. As Raoul hits the bottom, he closes the door and turns to Onyxx.)**

**Onyxx: Nicely done, Erik.**

**Erik: (pulls off mask) Thank you. I thought so too. Did you hear the way he screamed? PRICELESS!**


End file.
